


Spectre

by RedOrchid



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Ghosts, Halloween, Id Fic, Kids, M/M, Marriage, OTP: Forever And Beyond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-28 02:59:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12596636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedOrchid/pseuds/RedOrchid
Summary: Alexander is gone, and Magnus is left to pick up the pieces. Until Halloween comes around.





	Spectre

**Author's Note:**

> I meant to post this on actual Halloween, but got a little side-tracked. Belated happy Halloween, everyone! And a big thank you to everyone who helped cheer this fic along. <3 Also, sorry about the boatloads of angst. /o\

He loses Alexander on a Wednesday. There’s no apocalypse or even minor war going on—they survived all of that—several cycles of it, even. Instead, it’s simply a lapse in concentration at the wrong time, and a group of rogue vamps that get lucky.

Or, that’s the theory, at least; no one actually knows the details of how it happened. They only know that Alec went down to the corner store to pick up some groceries and never made it back to the loft. Magnus himself was in India at the time, helping their eldest settle in for a couple of weeks’ summer training at the Mumbai Institute. He and Rafa were lounging out in the Mumbai Institute gardens, play-arguing about whether Rafael should be allowed a magical pet in his room, when Isabelle called them to break the news.

Ever since he started falling for Alec, Magnus knew that he would eventually lose him, and that this would most likely break his heart. He’d made his peace with Alec’s mortality, figuring the years they would spend together would be worth the eventual pain.

He thought he’d have a lot more years, though, even with Alec’s profession. Forty, fifty or so. Not the measly eight he ended up getting.

 

* * *

 

The Clave tries to stop him from coming to the rite of mourning, and Magnus very nearly starts a war arguing his case. Jace stops him, and then uses his golden-boy status to get Magnus and Max seats in the family section, trying and failing to gloss over the fact that Rafael had already been invited and seated next to Isabelle and her family.

The indulgence burns even more bitterly than the original refusal.

Magnus keeps Max and Rafael close to him as they take their places in the front row. He stares right ahead, holding his head up high and ignoring the stares and whispers from some of the members of the Clave surrounding them. It reminds him of Alec and Lydia’s wedding-that-wasn’t, where all he could see was Alec in front of him—wanting to go to him so badly he could hardly breathe. Everything about the rite is set up in the pale tradition of Shadowhunter propriety. Calm, clean, dignified. Stiff upper lips and words of glory and duty.

Magnus wears a coat in a deep, ruby red and puts streaks of pure gold into his hair, relishing every disapproving look thrown his way.

When the Silent Brothers complete the ritual and glittering mist starts quietly rising from the dias in the centre of the hall, he lets his eyes bleed gold as well, clasping Max’s tiny hand tightly in his as their combined magic explodes through the space, flooding it with flowers in every colour of the rainbow.

 

* * *

 

Things settle back into a routine frighteningly fast—the logistics of suddenly being a single father to two boys under the age of ten providing more than enough challenges to fill Magnus’ days.

When New York grows too stifling, he cancels Rafael’s summer tour in Mumbai and takes the kids to Indonesia. From there, they travel around the world for months, exploring every country and city that takes their fancy.

They come back at the end of September, just as the leaves are changing colours. The loft is exactly the same as they left it, and Magnus alternates between finding comfort in seeing signs of Alec’s life with them still scattered around the place, and wanting to burn the whole building to the ground.

He stays out on the balcony more than is probably healthy, turning his wedding ring around his finger and feeling the lines of the familiar runes etched into it against his skin. Communication. Protection. Promise.

Grief and anger floods him, and he wrenches the ring off, throwing it off the building and into the darkness below. A split second later, icy panic grips him, magic surging out of this hands to catch the circle of gold and bring it back to him.

He puts it back on his fourth finger, his hands shaking all the while.

 

* * *

 

A month or so after they get back, Magnus is pulled out of sleep by the sound of Max crying in the next room. It’s not unusual—the magical growth spurts Max is going through are taxing on both his both his body and mind, and whatever his brain hasn’t had time to fully process while awake usually manifests in various dreams and nightmares when he’s sleeping.

Magnus groans and starts turning over on his back, preparing to drag himself out of bed. He feels like he hasn’t slept at all—stayed up too late at work, attempting to keep his mind occupied with the preparations for the annual Halloween party at Pandemonium the next day—and everything is hazy and unfocused as he forces open his eyes.

“Shhh, I’ll handle it; go back to sleep,” Alec’s voice tells him, deep and soothing. His hand comes down on Magnus’ shoulder, stroking a slow circle over his back, and Magnus drops back down into the pillows on instinct, murmuring a quiet _love you_ as his body is pulled back towards sleep.

Right before his sleep pulls him under, his mind catches up with him. He jack-knives into a sitting position, his heart speeding in his chest.

Max has stopped crying.

Magnus tells himself he’s still asleep, or, if not asleep, then maybe the accumulated sleep deprivation is finally making him lose his mind. He pushes the covers back and gets out of bed, slipping his naked feet into a pair of Alec’s old slippers out of habit.

He quietly makes his way to Max’s room, and feels his heart stop in his chest.

Alexander—oh, God, whatever shapeshifter has made its way past the wards is looking _exactly_ like him—is sitting on the edge of Max’s bed, carding his fingers through Max’s hair the same way _their_ Alexander always did, speaking to Max in calm, quiet tones.

_Shhh, Max, I know it’s tough on you right now. But you’re handling the magic so well, and I’m so proud of you… I’m sorry it hurts, but it’ll get better soon, I promise. You’ll be okay… I love you so much…_

Anger mixes with pure grief, and Magnus feels his glamour drop, magic surging through him and pouring out of his hands.

Instead of pushing the intruder back, the magic moves right through him, hitting the wall behind Max’s bed and sending off sparks in every direction.

The intruder jumps to his feet and turns around, shock written across his face. “Magnus!”

Magnus sends another wave of magic at him. It passes through and hits the wall again. “Step away from my son.”

“What? Wait, are you—Magnus, it’s me!”

“Step. Away. From. Him.”

The shapeshifter—or whatever it is—slowly steps back, holding his hands up in front of himself.

“Magnus, please listen to me. It’s _me_ . I don’t know how you—I’ve been here. Ever since it happened. _I’ve been here_. Please, Magnus, just listen to me.”

Against his better judgement, Magnus feels his hands fall to his sides, the magic gathering in the palms of his hands flickering out of existence. In front of him not!Alec—he can’t allow himself to think of this thing as Alec—swallows hard, his hazel eyes practically begging Magnus to believe him. Through some kind of miracle, Max just keeps on sleeping, his breaths deep and even, one hand stretched out in not!Alec’s direction.

“Prove it.”

Magnus doesn’t mean to say it, but the words fall from his lips anyway, pulled forward by a treacherous spark of hope in his chest—one he recognises far too well to trust, but still ends up following.

Not!Alec lets out a sigh of relief. His right hand immediately goes to his hair as he considers the request, pulling his fingers through it and stopping to tug once at the back of the head right before he lets go, in a way that’s achingly familiar.

“Right, yeah. Hang on, I—you know when we—crap, no. Izzy knew that one. Back when—no. Wait. I go it. The day before our wedding you took me back to Tokyo. We went to the balcony at the Palace Hotel where we had one of our first dates, and you kissed me there, in the exact same spot as the first time.” He blinks and then breaks away from Magnus’ eyes. “I, uh, I’d been having cold feet the whole week leading up to the wedding. Stupid stuff, old insecurities coming up to the surface. But on that balcony, I was sure. And when you kissed me, it was—” He swallows again, and when he looks back up, there’s a definite wet shine to his eyes that wasn’t there before.

“When you kissed me, I knew that I never wanted to kiss anyone else, ever again,” he says, meeting Magnus’ eyes dead on, even as his voice breaks a little. “I knew I was yours. Forever. No matter what. I was yours. And I still am.”

 

* * *

 

_This is a dream_ , Magnus thinks, as the moments stretch out between him and what is most likely a figment of his own imagination. _I miss him too much, so my mind gave him back to me._

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, swallowing down against the sudden tightness he can feel in his throat. When he opens them again, he half expects to be back in bed; instead, he’s still in Max’s room, and the spectre of Alec is looking back at him warily.

“I miss you.” The words fall from Magnus’ lips, unbidden. The tightness in his throat grows, making each word hurt all the way down to his chest. “All the time.”

The image of Alec lets out a sound that’s somewhere between a breath of relief and a sob. His right hand falls to the headboard of Max’s bed, gripping it until his knuckles turn white.

“It’s been killing me to be here,” he replies. “to see you grieve and not be able to do a damn thing to help.” He clears his throat and looks away, down at Max’s sleeping form. “Max has nightmares every night, and I can’t even fucking hug him. And Rafa doesn’t even—” He breaks off, letting go of the bed to quickly wipe his eyes with the back of his hand.

Wow. When Magnus’ subconscious decides to play games with him, it really goes straight for the gut.

Then the meaning of Alec’s words fully register.

“Wait. The kids, can they—?”

“I don’t know; I don’t think so. Sometimes, it almost seems like Max knows I’m here. He—settles when sit with him at night. Sometimes, I think he’s turning towards me when I talk to him. But then he wakes up and looks right through me.”

Magnus closes his eyes again, hot wetness burning behind the lids. “And Rafa?”

“Nothing,” Alec replies quietly, his voice breaking again at the single word. Magnus forces himself to open his eyes, everything inside him aching for Alec, even like this—even when Magnus knows it can’t be real.

“Same as you,” Alec continues softly, and Magnus’ heart breaks all over again. “Until tonight.”

The grief inside Magnus flares, burning white hot until he can’t think anymore. He’s moving before he has a chance to register it happening, crossing the floor and reaching for his husband.

He stops himself just in time, his hand hovering right next to Alec’s face, terrified that—even in the dream—he’ll close the last bit of distance and find nothing but air between his fingers.

“Magnus…” The same terror he, himself, feels is written all over Alec’s face. Somehow, that gives Magnus the courage he needs to press forward. He closes his eyes, swallowing hard, not wanting to see when he’s proven correct and the dream falls to pieces in front of his eyes.

Alec’s face is warm. There’s the familiar scratch of stubble against his palm; a wet patch of wiped away tears just beneath his thumb.

They fall into each other, lips meeting in a desperate, trembling clash. Alexander tastes like salt and sadness, and the same relief and unbelieving joy that’s shattering what is left of Magnus’ hearts and putting every piece back together again.

They stumble together out of the room, kisses growing increasingly desperate as they cross the hall into their bedroom. Alec’s hands are on his hips, pushing down his underwear, while Magnus’ hands shakingly work open the buttons on Alec’s shirt. They fall on top of the bed, both of them moaning when their bodies slot together oh-so-easily, and they fall into the fast, glorious rhythm they perfected over the years.

It’s a mess of tears and broken moans—at once one of the best and worst nights of Magnus’ long life.

He wouldn’t trade it for the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love <3 Come yell at me on [tumblr](http://actuallyredorchid.tumblr.com). :D


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